This week I’d like to share a form of fixed poetry called the
Chant Royal. It is similar to an
Ode that was often used for heroic subjects or deeds. It has five eleven-line stanzas and an ending that can either be a five line or seven line envoi… that’s 60 plus lines of fixed writing! To make it more interesting, no rhyming word is to be used twice! Talk about intimidating…the set up for the stanzas is as follows:
a b a b c c d d e d E with an ending that can be either
d d e d E or
c c d d e d E.
I’ve only written three poems in this style…and tweaked each try with my own add ons. The first attempt was a train wreck, the second was only a car crash and this
one, which I continue to edit to this day. As you can see, I altered the rules, making the word
She the first line of each stanza. I’m not going lie, it’s complicated, but if you’re up for the challenge, trying this form out will be its own reward.
This is my submission for the
MONDAY POETRY POTLUCK...it's about a QUEEN I call...
She…
…is so fiery and hypnotic
that her glance can turn a glacier into a lake,
with a beauty that gives contusions to the eyes,
those beholding her sight may never escape.
The web of awe she weaves
is indescribable and hard to deny.
Divinity can't concoct a vision this grand,
nature jealous because second place is its command,
even the sun rises everyday to see,
this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.
She…
…is a scintillating narcotic,
who every milli-second I wish to take.
No other illicit drug could ever get me this high,
aching for her every moment I wake.
If she were to ever leave
a river I would most surely cry,
becoming a lost vagabond roaming the land,
so that this may never happen, here is my plan:
devote all my existence to thee,
this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.
She…
…is alluring and exotic,
curves, skin, and lips, flawless, no mistakes.
Fingers fighting to touch her; the battle ending in a tie,
exploration of her form soon to be caress’s fate.
Destined to one day achieve
a consummation that will cause the heavens to sigh;
two lovers who turn constellations into a fan,
of an endless connection that continually expands,
her vivaciousness expansive as the sea,
this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.
She…
…makes me neurotic,
whether asleep or awake.
Illusions and imagination of other things I dare not try,
gray matter could never function under this much weight.
To be this devoted, who would believe?
Mental faculties contorted and the same time spry.
The logic that's left assails to the lower stand,
joining erratic thoughts which are calmed by her hands,
an infatuation that has me giddy with glee;
this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.
She…
…the rest of my life to her allotted,
willful conscription to her I shall never break,
for when she is thirsty my mouth gets dry,
with eventual nuptials there can be no debate.
Into me essential breath she breathes,
I need her and that's no lie.
So we take a journey only fated lovers overstand,
her becoming a High Priestess and I the Iman,
letting the moments scribe our story,
this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.
She…
…at last bound together, we work on starting a clan.
Children soon to be everywhere, our own genetic caravan.
My soul the lock, her love the key;
this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.
© 2008, 2010 dasuntoucha
